


ship turned

by bell (bellaboo), bellaboo, usomitai (bellaboo)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Multi, OT3, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-11
Updated: 2008-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-02 03:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/pseuds/bell, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/pseuds/bellaboo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/pseuds/usomitai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson looks for smooth sailing after the first time he sleeps with Amber and House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ship turned

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday present for Teresa11 who requested a light-hearted prompt, "like, which one is the cuddliest in bed” for her OT3.

It’s not that she’s soft and he’s ragged. It’s not that simple. She is hard in ways he will never be: if he is a cardboard figure trembling in the wind, with doubts, she is a bronze statue, her confidence and determination a monument.

But Amber is open in ways House will never be, and she is a harbor for you, giving you refuge from the tempestuous sea of everyday life, work, and, yes, even him. She mends your tattered sails, cares for your battered hull, and then you are off again, to sail.

So when he joins the two of you, it is strange, because suddenly you have both sea and harbor in your bed. It gets confusing.

“You should’ve kept the water bed,” House whines, in the same tone Paris Hilton must use when she doesn’t have the funds to buy her pooch a new Versacchi scarf. You are in the middle, but he does not touch you; even after a lust-filled frenzy, with names called out repeatedly and so, so much skin against skin, he retracts into himself, curling up like storm clouds waiting to pour.

“Shut up, House,” Amber says, on your other side. Her right leg is folded over yours, her bare skin rubbing against your hairy calves. The two of you nuzzle faces, exchanging Eskimo kisses, smiling at how your noses, cheeks, eyelashes bump. She smells of peach conditioner, sweat, House, yourself.

“Just saying,” and House sounds pitiful, the waves that crash destructively but uselessly onto the shore. He is covered only by a sheet, and you think he must be covered in goose bumps, given the night’s coolness. “You got rid of it before I could join in on the fun and games.”

“Grown men don’t whine,” you say, but you also turn from her to kiss his brow and scoop an arm around his shoulders, foolishly, like a boy who thinks he can hold the ocean in two cupped palms. He unfurls, the length of his body at your edge, and you are surrounded on both sides. You used to think you would have to travel back and forth, always away from one of your homes, but here you are, House’s hard muscle to your right, and Amber’s pliant curves to your left.

“Anyway, we didn’t do anything in that bed,” Amber quips, propping herself up on an elbow to better talk to House. “If you’re going to be jealous of all the things you missed out on, you should fixate on the shower.”

House tenses, hardness becoming rigid, and Amber, too, starts to coil. It’s a dangerous combination, harbor and sea, opposites and threats to one another. But it’s more than that; bickering to them is flirting, and you’ve had enough rough play today. For now, you just want to float between them, lazily buoyant, ship turned jellyfish.

“We can try it out tomorrow, House,” your promise, and your hand clasps his; they’re clammy with cooled sweat. Your other hand strokes at Amber’s smooth neck. It is warm between them, and the mattress, of your own choosing, is the softest, most comfortable one you’ve known your whole life. You won’t be opting out of this any time soon. “There’s always tomorrow.”


End file.
